violet toma adams ☆ tom riddle. (toma) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-09-09 22:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * kit, r: toma adams |
WHO: Toma Adams
WHEN: Thursday, September 7, 2017; Early Morning
WHERE: Toma’s place
SUMMARY: Toma has a vague, bad dream and calls Albert for comfort.
WARNINGS: None! Just mentions of negative emotions.
Toma woke with a start, turning to look at Albert for comfort before remembering that he was in New York just then. She ran her hands down over her face before throwing off the covers. Too consumed by her dream, she barely registered the coldness of the wood floor beneath her bare feet or the way her camisole clung to her back, damp with sweat. She padded into the bathroom where she turned on cold water, splashing it a few times on her face. Her reflection stared mockingly back at her when she stood up, water dripping from her chin and her skin pale, too pale. She couldn't remember exactly what she'd been dreaming about, the dream had been mostly feelings instead of images. The feelings lingered, though, like a bad aftertaste. She remembered blind, hot rage, a feeling of intense hatred, vindication, as though somehow these emotions were justified and meant to work in tandem. Toma couldn't remember having ever felt anything like those before, no matter how many times she'd offhandedly she'd uttered the words I hate this as though those words had no meaning, no power. Power. She remembered feeling that in her dream, too. She remembered feeling as though she had an intoxicating amount of power and control coursing through her veins. She'd felt cold, hard, vicious. She couldn't imagine what could have possibly prompted such a violent dream. There'd been no blatant arguments between herself and Calla as of late and, even when they'd fought before, Toma had never hated her sister or felt the need for some sort of vindication. Hurt was the emotion she could most easily pinpoint, even if she tried to pretend like she couldn't be hurt. Walking back into the bedroom, Toma glanced at the clock. Six a.m. It was still too early to get dressed and go open up the shop to distract her and she was still too shaken to really want to be productive, anyway. She grabbed up her cell phone and slid back under her covers--the sheets were wet from a cold sweat, too, but Toma ignored this--punching in the number she'd known by heart for years now. There was really only one thing she wanted when she felt out of sorts and, despite the early hour, she knew he'd already be awake with the paper and a cup of coffee, ready for the new workday. The phone rang twice before the other end was picked up. "Hey," she said, the phone pressed between her face and the pillow, "I miss you. Tell me something nerdy about math to tide me over for a few more days." Toma tried to focus on steadying her breath, trying to sound as normal as possible on the phone. If she tried hard enough, she hoped she could forget the feelings that still stirred unwanted and too real within her. |